


The Language of Flowers

by Nostalgia_101



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 11:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13926195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nostalgia_101/pseuds/Nostalgia_101
Summary: Five times where the flowers Cormoran and Robin received caused their feelings to grow, and one time where their relationship truly blossomed.





	1. Tiptoe Through the Tulips

Cormoran looked up from where he was reading files on the couch to see Robin struggle through the office door with an oversized bouquet of tulips in one hand and their tray of afternoon pick-me-up coffee in the other. He stood and grabbed both items from her, setting them on the desk while she wriggled out of her coat.

“Thanks,” Robin smiled, hanging the coat up on the rack and closing the door. “I ran into the delivery man downstairs.”

Cormoran peered at the ostentatious bunch of flowers as he selected a styrofoam cup. “Did you move the date of your birthday and not tell me?” he quipped, grimacing when the awful taste of soymilk hit his tongue. “Sorry, I nabbed your one,” he said, handing her the cup. “Why do you insist on ruining it with that muck lately?”

“My housemate swears by it,” Robin replied, plucking out the card that was nestled in the flowers. She took a sip of her drink as she read it, choking on the mouthful when she realised who the gift was from.

“What is it?” Cormoran frowned, waiting for Robin to stop coughing. “They’re not from a nutter are they?” he asked, glaring at the flowers as if they were suddenly contaminated with anthrax.

Robin’s cheeks flushed and she shook her head. “Not exactly,” she croaked, handing him the card.

Cormoran’s eyebrows lifted as he read the note: _Cheers, Robin, for all your help with the case. You’re a great bird (pun intended!). Let me shout you dinner at D’Artagnan’s sometime. Gregory Flintock._

“Well then…” Cormoran said, pursing his lips together in thought as he tapped the notecard against his thigh. “Maybe we should’ve charged fancy Flintock a few more quid if he can afford to take you to D’Artagnan’s?” He aimed for an airy tone but his smile was tight.

“Are we forgetting the part where he called me a bird?” Robin scoffed, screwing up her nose. “Not to mention the fact he thinks he’s god’s gift.” She tugged the card out of Cormoran’s hand, now crumpled from his grip, and tossed it into the bin. “It was so hard keeping a straight face whenever he swanned in.”

“You were a consummate professional, though,” Cormoran said, clocking the way Robin’s thumb was rubbing against the bare skin of her ring finger. There’d been a stark increase in Flintock-types sniffing about ever since her marriage had ended eight months earlier. “I, on the other hand, found it very hard not to deck him.”

Robin bit back a smirk, remembering one meeting where Flintock had come dressed in his designer gym clothes, claiming he was headed for a workout straight after. But Robin had deduced the bicep-boasting tank top he wore was for her ‘benefit’ as it was freezing out that day. Cormoran had come in halfway through the meeting, took one look at Flintock preening in all of his overly-fake-tanned glory, and became so repulsed that he stopped eating the kebab he was once enjoying. This was coming from a man who happily tucked into a roast dinner after viewing a burnt corpse at a crime scene, so Robin knew things must’ve been dire. 

“The only thing I appreciated about Flintock was that his case accidentally gave us that witness for the Talbot case,” said Robin, recalling her delight when she realised one of Flintock’s workmates, Kent Isham, had a previously unforeseen connection to their murder victim, Bradley Talbot.

Cormoran nodded. “Utterly brilliant work on your behalf,” he said, causing Robin’s cheeks to flush pink with pride. “Linking them by the limited edition trainers they both wore?” He shook his head in amazement. “That’s a Sherlock move if I ever saw one.”

“All right, that’s enough out of you,” shushed Robin, but she couldn’t wipe the pleased smile from her face. She took another sip of her coffee, jutting her chin towards the couch. “What files are we working on?”

“Nothing that can’t wait till tomorrow,” Cormoran replied, glancing at his watch and deciding that 4.18pm was a good enough end to the day as any. “Tell you what, how about we head to the Tottenham for a celebratory drink?”

Robin chuckled. “What are we drinking to now?” she asked in bemusement. “Cheers to a day that ends in ‘y’? Hooray it’s Wednesday? We’re practically part of the furniture there, y’know.”

“I prefer to think of it as loyal patronage,” Cormoran said wryly, gulping down more coffee before throwing the cup in the bin. “No, we should make a toast to your ingenuity… and to celebrate getting that tosspot Flintock out of our lives,” he added, grinning when Robin let out a throaty cackle.

“I will most _definitely_ drink to that,” she replied, raising her coffee cup in the air.

* * * 

The tip of Robin’s tongue poked out between her teeth as she bit down on it in contemplation, then she squeezed one eye shut to properly size up her opponent.

“Are you going to throw the bloody dart sometime this century or shall I just etch out my tombstone now?” Cormoran quipped in a put upon manner from his barstool at their table. “Here lies Cormoran Strike: he died of intense boredom.”

Robin broke her concentration to aim a withering look his way before resuming her stance before the dartboard. “You should’ve known better than to challenge me to a game. I take these matters very seriously you know.”

“Oh believe me, I know now,” he retorted, hiding his smirk behind his beer glass as he took a drink. “So when’d you become Robin Hood of the darts world, then?”

“Used to play back home with the family,” Robin replied, swinging her hand back and forth to get the right momentum going. “… And Matthew,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes as she released the dart from her hand with a little more force than she intended.

Cormoran let out an impressed whistle when the dart hit the bullseye with a satisfactory thwack. “Nicely done. I think I may have to graciously bow out while I still have a shred of dignity.”

Robin sauntered back to the table with a smile and picked up her wine. “Nonsense, you’re doing all right,” she said, sipping from her glass. “A five out of ten I’d say,” she added with a sly grin, enjoying Cormoran’s look of mock outrage. “I really thought you’d be better than this – pubs being your second home and all.”

“The cheek of it,” he retorted, gulping down more beer before standing up with renewed vigour. “Righto, how do I not look like such an arse doing this then?” he queried, rubbing his hands together.

“Stand a bit closer for one,” Robin said, collecting the darts from the board and passing them to him. “Otherwise you’re going to get it in the pot plant again.”

“That plant jumped out at me… it was an am _bush_.” Cormoran’s lips twitched when Robin rolled her eyes at his pun. “All right, fine, I’m closer. What next?”

“Make sure the dart’s sitting comfortably in your hand,” she replied, watching him twist it around. “I like to hold it like a pen but you might prefer to think of it as one of your beloved smokes,” she teased.

Cormoran fiddled around with it until he was satisfied. “Now what? I just chuck it?”

Robin sighed wearily, shaking her head. “You need to be more nuanced than that,” she said, pausing briefly before correcting his stance. She gently gripped one hand under his elbow while using the other to bring his forearm back. “Line your arm straight,” she murmured, glancing at him. “Does that feel OK?”

The warmth of Robin’s touch against his skin felt more than OK to Cormoran, but he settled for giving her a quick nod. “ _Now_ I chuck it?” he joked, their close proximity allowing him to indulge in the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed.

“Yes, you big oaf, now you chuck it.” 

Cormoran thought he would have done all right if Robin hadn’t have let her thumb trail down his wrist when she let his hand go. The dart went veering to the right, clunking off the side of the board before landing on the ground.

Robin pressed her lips together to keep from grinning. “That was… an attempt,” she offered, as Cormoran threw his hands up in defeat and placed his remaining darts back on their table.

“Here lies Cormoran Strike,” he repeated, raising his beer glass in a toast. “He died from one of his own darts ricocheting back at him. What an absolute plonker.”

“May he rest in peace and find solace in billiards in the after life,” said Robin solemnly, clinking her glass to his. She broke into a curious grin when she noticed her partner smiling at her warmly. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Cormoran, fiddling with one of the coasters. “It’s just nice discovering new things about you, Robin Hood.”

Robin’s smile widened then took on a mischievous glint. “Well, right back at you Friar _Suck_.”

“Oh it’s like that now is it?” Cormoran said indignantly, smirking at her shrug of mockery. “Well, I ‘spose the loser better pay for dinner then hadn’t he,” he said nonchalantly, scratching behind his ear. “I mean it’s no fancy French cuisine at D’Artagnan’s…”

“I hate that place anyway,” said Robin. “It’s way too pretentious.” She tilted her head to the side. “I much prefer this,” she said softly.

Cormoran smiled at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, her mouth curving into grin.

“Me too,” he agreed.

* * *

When Cormoran got into the office the next morning after his surveillance run, he noticed Robin’s bouquet of tulips had been unceremoniously squashed into the bin.

He smiled to himself and popped the kettle on.


	2. Every Rose Has Its Thorn

“Cormoran’s here, Rob!”

Robin swore as she accidentally jabbed herself in the eye with her mascara wand. She glanced at her watch with the eye that wasn’t currently watering, noticing that Strike was twenty minutes early. And here she was thinking she’d have to drag him kicking and moaning to Shanker’s wedding.

“Thanks, Mel!” she called out to her housemate from the bathroom. “I’m still getting ready, Cormoran, grab yourself a drink while you’re waiting,” she added, hearing a short reply in return. Robin hustled along with the rest of her make-up and fixed a few loose strands of hair with the curling wand, hearing peals of Mel’s laughter coming from the kitchen. She was about to head into her room to change out of her robe when Mel’s giggling got the better of her and she altered her direction to where her housemate and her work partner were sitting at the breakfast bar.

“All right?” Cormoran greeted her, taking a draught from his beer bottle as he gave her white fluffy bathrobe a onceover. “If I’d have known you were going so casual I would’ve kept my tracksuit bottoms on,” he said with a playful smile.

Robin rolled her eyes, a little of it directed towards Mel, who was laughing like Cormoran was heir apparent to Billy Connelly. Her housemate harboured quite the crush on her friend and wasn’t exactly shy in the flirting department. “And here I was about to pay you a compliment,” Robin replied, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. Cormoran definitely scrubbed up nicely in his dark blue suit, white shirt and blue tie. 

“Let’s have it then,” Cormoran encouraged her, leaning back to accept her praise.

“Just that it’s nice to see you living up to your middle name,” Robin replied with a smirk, earning a chuckle from Strike.

Mel squinted at Cormoran’s suit. “What’s your middle name then?” she asked.

“Gregory,” Cormoran replied, the lie earning a snort from Robin.

“I don’t get the connection,” Mel said, shaking her head as she gave the suit another ponder before she realised she was being messed with. “You two are so annoying with all your little in-jokes,” she accused, playfully swatting at Cormoran’s arm. “When do I get to join in with the fun?” she cooed.

Cormoran widened his eyes ever so slightly at Robin in a clear ‘what do I do?’ manner, which made Robin bite down on a satisfied smirk.

“Mel, could you actually come help zip me into my dress please?” she asked, motioning for her housemate to follow her. “Don’t want to be late.”

“Not quite the fun I was after,” said Mel, reluctantly setting her beer down. Robin caught the ‘thank you’ Cormoran mouthed to her behind Mel’s back and threw him a small wink in return.

Taking the dress out of the garment bag she’d laid carefully across the bed, Robin slipped into it, gathering her hair to one side so Mel could zip her up.

“What’s Corm’s story then?” asked Mel, clasping the dress together at the top so the zip could slide up easier.

“How d’you mean?” said Robin, trying not to grimace at the over-familiarisation of Cormoran’s name.

“Well… is he dating anyone at the moment?” Mel asked. She patted Robin on the shoulder to signal she was done.

Robin hesitated before turning around with an apologetic smile. “Y’know what, I think he is actually.” The fib slipped off her tongue far too easily. She busied herself with reapplying her lipstick in the mirror. “A woman his friend Nick set him up with. Pretty sure they’ve been out a few times.”

“Oh, right then,” Mel said somewhat dejectedly, causing the prickles of guilt to sink further into Robin’s skin. “Well, let me know if that situation ever changes,” she said with a halfhearted chuckle. “That dress looks amazing by the way,” she added, backing out of the room. “You should try and catch some action tonight along with the bouquet!”

Robin felt the heat rush to her face as she deflected Mel’s suggestion. “Pfft, not likely. Shanker’s mates are more of an… acquired taste,” she offered diplomatically. Once Mel had headed to her own room, Robin took a moment to scrutinise herself in the mirror. She felt awful lying to Mel about Cormoran’s love life – Mel was actually a lovely, albeit slightly full-on girl – but something felt off about encouraging her housemate’s crush. She figured it was probably just self-preservation in keeping her work and home lives separate in case Mel did go out with Cormoran and it went belly up.

Yes. That was definitely it.

Putting her lipstick in her clutch, Robin slipped into her heels and made her way back to the kitchen where Cormoran was looking at a few photos she had stuck on the fridge. “Sorry about the wait, shall we call the cab?”

“Yeah, sure, ready when….” Cormoran trailed off when he turned around and saw Robin in a very familiar-looking, figure-hugging green dress. “You are,” he finished, swallowing roughly. He smoothed down the bottom of his shirt where he’d failed to iron out a few stubborn wrinkles, wishing he’d tried a bit harder. “You look beautiful, Robin,” he said reverently.

Robin ducked her head, tucking a curl behind her ear. “It’s not too much?” she wondered, glancing down at the dress. “I didn’t know how posh a Shanker wedding would be,” she said with a grin.

“No, you’re… it’s lovely,” said Cormoran, clearing his throat as he broke eye contact. He picked up his beer and took a long pull. “Speaking of posh things, though, I could use your help with something,” he said, picking up a black box off the bench that Robin had only just noticed. Cormoran opened it up to show her a white rose. “Best man’s supposed to wear this buttonhole contraption but I can’t make it sit right for the life of me,” he said, holding it out to her. “Would you mind?”

“Of course not,” Robin replied, taking the box from his hands. She put it aside once she’d carefully plucked out the rose and handed Cormoran the pin to mind. “I still can’t believe our little Shanker’s getting married,” Robin smiled, moving the rose around on Cormoran’s lapel to find the perfect position.

Cormoran huffed out a laugh, his breath making Robin’s hair sway. “Me either. Four months of dating! And nevermind the fact he met his missus through his crime syndicate,” he added with a bemused shake of his head.

“Someone for everyone,” Robin smiled, glancing up at Cormoran. Her hands stilled as she took in just how close they were standing. The detail of his stubble was quite apparent from this new vantage point and Robin had the brief, unbidden thought at what it would feel like on her lips. “Let’s have the pin then,” she said a little too abruptly, inwardly wincing at her own tone.

But Cormoran was far too busy being overtly aware of how Robin had a tiny shimmer of eyeshadow caught on the end of some eyelashes to notice. “Right, sorry,” he said on a slight delay, handing Robin the pin.

Robin chewed on her bottom lip as she fastened the rose then stood back to admire her handiwork. “Very nice,” she said with a satisfied nod.

“Only nice, eh?” Cormoran replied, attempting to rally himself. “I was hoping more for charming or debonair.”

“Look out, get the man into a suit and he thinks he’s James Bond,” Robin shot back with a smirk. She took her phone from her purse to call the cab. “Want to practice your best man speech on the way?”

“Probably a wise move,” Cormoran said with a pained look. “God I hate weddings.”

Robin gave him a tight smile. “Haven’t been my favourite things in recent memory either, but we’ll solider on for Shanker’s sake.”

Cormoran shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded, slightly abashed. “For Shanker.”

* * *

The wine had been flowing a touch too freely for Robin at the reception, mainly due to the fact that she’d been seated at the ‘singles’ table. Cormoran had left the bridal party and joined her after all the speeches had been done. But a glamourous blonde called Lolly, with beautiful watercolour tattoos up and down her arms, had been chatting his ear off ever since he’d sat down.

“Charlene’s my best mate from school,” Lolly explained to Cormoran. “And now she’s a flipping bride! How mad’s that?”

Cormoran nodded politely as he drank his beer. “Completely,” he agreed.

“Wish I were on the same ticket, but sadly no one’s Beyonce’d me yet,” Lolly chortled, holding up her hand to wiggle it around. “Y’know, Single Ladies? Put a ring on it?” she added at Cormoran’s confused look, trilling out the ‘oh, oh, ohs’ of the song.

“Right, can’t say I know that one,” Cormoran replied in slight bewilderment. “Robin’s more of the popular music enthusiast,” he said, pointing to his right where she was sitting. “Didn’t even know who Deeby Macc was, did I?”

Robin offered him a wry smile. “I’m pretty sure you live under a rock, and then under that rock, an even smaller rock.”

“That’s why I only know rock and roll music,” Cormoran replied very seriously, relishing in eliciting another eye roll from Robin.

“Ooh, speaking of,” Lolly enthused, tapping her feet to the band that was playing. “You fancy a spin around the dance floor?” she asked Cormoran eagerly.

Cormoran scrubbed the back of his neck, giving Lolly an apologetic wince. “Dancing’s not really my thing,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t have to offer any further explanation.

Lolly put on a playful pout. “Aww, come on. Just one little bop?”

Robin could see Cormoran felt uncomfortable and gave Lolly a smile like she was letting her in on a secret. “You remember John Sergeant on _Strictly_?” she said, earning a confused nod from the blonde. “Well even _he’s_ got loads more rhythm than this guy,” Robin said in a mock-whisper, jerking her thumb towards Strike. “Trust me.”

“That’s a shame,” said Lolly, getting to her feet. “All well, give us a whirl then would you, Beetle?” she said, holding out her hand to the skinny bloke sitting on her other side.

Cormoran and Robin watched the two of them merge into the crowd on the dance floor. “Thanks for that,” said Cormoran, leaning back in his seat as Robin finished her wine. “You want another one?” he asked, starting to reach for the bottle in the middle of the table.

“I think I better have a rest to be honest,” Robin replied, the flush of alcohol on her cheeks completely encompassing her rouge. She glanced around the room, smiling sadly at the bride and groom sharing a passionate snog as they danced. “Might just pop to the loo,” she said suddenly, rising from her chair. “Back soon.”

Robin made a beeline for the bathrooms then changed her mind and slipped out a side door of the reception hall to a quiet spot in the blissfully empty courtyard. She sat down on one of the wooden benches and looked up at the fairy lights. The cool night air hit her and she wished she’d thought to bring a shawl or jacket.

Her head whipped up when the door creaked open, relief washing over her when she saw Cormoran appear, fiddling with a pack of smokes. 

“Just needed some air,” she explained, rubbing her hands up and down her arms for warmth.

Cormoran nodded wordlessly, hanging an unlit cigarette between his lips before shrugging off his suit jacket and laying it gently over Robin’s shoulders.

“Ta,” Robin said, snuggling into it with only a hint of shame. “Making a habit of this aren’t I?” she said wryly, recalling their mission to the publishing party a while back.

Strike sat down next to her. “It’s all right, I’ve got enough padding on me to ward off the cold,” he quipped, lighting up his smoke and inhaling a slow drag. “How you feeling?” he asked, turning to glance at her.

“Like I probably shouldn’t have anymore wine,” Robin admitted, slipping her arms into the jacket sleeves. The material was still warm from Cormoran’s body heat. “Slightly inebriated but still coherent enough to _say_ inebriated.”

“And how’re you feeling about all this…” he said, gesturing at the wedding reception centre where the music was filtering through to outside. 

Robin rested her chin on her shoulder as she looked up at him, her face a mixture of emotions. “I’ll be OK,” she murmured. “It’s just… memories, y’know?”

Cormoran hummed in acknowledgement, taking another drag of his smoke. “How’d you think my speech went then?” he asked. “Any good?”

“It was lovely,” Robin said, her lips curling into a grateful smile at the change in topic. “I liked hearing about how much your mum meant to Shanker too.”

“He loved her a lot,” Cormoran said quietly, as he stared up at the night sky. They sat in companionable silence while he finished his smoke then ground it into the dirt with his boot. He looked down at his hand resting near Robin’s on the bench and realised she was swaying her body in time to the music, humming under her breath to the tune. “You like this song?” he asked. 

Robin nodded, closing her eyes and smiling. “It’s one of my parents’ favourites, too. _These Arms Of Mine_ by…” 

“Otis Redding,” Cormoran filled in, smirking when Robin blinked her eyes open in surprise. “I occasionally get some soul music under my many layers of rocks.”

She laughed and continued to sway in time to the melody.

Cormoran clenched and unclenched his hand, struggling with his inner thoughts before opening his mouth. “Would you like to dance?” he blurted out, cringing at how adolescent he managed to sound.

Robin stared at him in wonder, her lips forming into a startled ‘o’ shape. “Here?”

“It’d be a sight less embarrassing than me attempting it in public,” he said, giving her what he hoped was a casual shrug. He felt self-conscious when she continued to stare at him. “Forget it, I was being stupid. Let’s just…”

“I’d really like that,” Robin said softly, cutting him off. She took his hand and stood up with a smile, waiting for Cormoran to follow her lead.

Gathering his wits, Cormoran stood and gently slid his free hand around her waist, smiling when Robin stepped in closer to him so their bodies were only a hairsbreadth apart.

Robin linked their fingers together and moved from side to side in a simple motion. “Is this OK?” she asked, glancing down at his leg.

Cormoran nodded, turning them around in a slow circle. “Just don’t expect me to break into a Charleston or anything,” he said wryly, smiling at Robin’s snort of laughter.

“I’m shattered to hear it,” she replied, looking up at him with a fond smile. She drew their linked hands in to rest on Cormoran’s chest while he took them in another lazy spin. The wine coursing through her body allowed her to slide her hand from his shoulder across to his lapel, where she traced a finger around the white rose.

Cormoran was entranced staring down at Robin in his arms under the peaceful glow of the fairy lights, the music lulling them both into a dangerously comfortable mood. “Robin…” he murmured, releasing a slow breath as she glanced up at him.

Robin opened her mouth to speak but a pained yelp escaped instead. She drew her finger back from where the rose’s pin had pricked her and found a small spot of blood pooling on the pad of her skin. “Bugger,” she muttered, sticking her finger in her mouth to soothe the sting.

“Sorry about that,” Cormoran said, as if he’d somehow set the flower upon her. He awkwardly withdrew his arms from hers just as she did the same, the magic of the moment whisked away in the cool night air.

“Not your fault,” Robin said with a flushed smile, somewhat relieved to see that Cormoran’s cheeks had the same tinge to them. She held her finger out at an angle while she fetched her clutch to get a plaster (she’d come prepared for blisters on her feet from her heels).

Cormoran shoved his hands into his pockets as he watched Robin pop the plaster around her finger. “I think they might be cutting the cake soon,” he said conversationally, trying to forge past just how close they were standing only moments ago. “Want to head back in?”

Robin nodded. She slid Strike’s jacket off and handed it back to him, throwing him a grin to put their strange, shared mood back on track. “Heaven forbid you miss out on any sweets,” she said, giving his shoulder a teasing nudge with hers as they walked back into the reception hall.

A smirk played across Cormoran’s lips. “You’ll keep, Ellacott. You’ll keep.”


End file.
